Most fortunately, however, it is provided that, in the face of real and present danger, the smallest-spirited of us has no sense of fear, but rather one of exhilaration—it is no new discovery of mine, I know, but it is an immense comfort at the moment, and, though the chances of our being swamped at any moment were enormous, I had the satisfaction, while I hugged ‘Diana’ (our latest acquisition, a beautiful setter-spaniel), of deciding that if this was the end of the chapter, it was nice to finish in such good company! I think I had just arrived at this philosophic reflection when our boat was whirled and sucked in under the stern of the Dodo, where the propeller was revolving, and the heaving sea threatened to throw us up and crush us like egg-shells. There was just a moment while we all stared upwards at the black stern and held our breaths, then the wave passed and a mighty pull brought us round, just in time, and a few minutes later we were all standing on the Dodo’s dripping deck, congratulating each other on having succeeded in getting there! It was quite the nastiest experience I have yet had, and I know that all my companions would agree that I have by no means exaggerated the seriousness of it. This transhipping from ‘intermediate’ boats is a most unpleasant, and also dangerous business, ruining baggage and risking lives; it is not too much to say that no one should be called upon to take such a risk, and I believe that every official in Northern Nigeria would rather sacrifice a week’s leave than do so.
We returned our borrowed oilskins by the boat-men’s hands, and groped our way, in the driving rain, to our luggage, only to find that the particular box we sought had been forced open and rifled, and our new three-guinea mackintoshes had vanished! This was getting on towards ‘the last straw,’ but the kindly skipper, after much hunting, found a large native cloth, which I could wrap over my soaking muslin blouse, and, when some tea had been made, and one of us had produced an immense plum-cake, we began to forget our sorrows, and steamed up to Burutu just as the darkness was falling, much comforted to see the smiling black face of ‘Momo,’ our faithful head steward, come down to meet us.
The next morning, as the Empire fussed and paddled up the familiar creeks, and the sunshine was bright again, we opened the boxes that seemed to have suffered most from sea-water. My own clothes had fared badly, and it was a little saddening to cast overboard stained sodden masses (including my best evening frock!) which had been dainty muslins and chiffons. Destruction to nearly all one’s possessions is all in the day’s work in Nigeria, but it was rather saddening to see the destructive process well begun even before arrival!
We had a coop full of English fowls, Buff Orpingtons and Black Minorcas, and they, poor things, had very narrowly escaped drowning, and had been so terribly knocked about that they could hardly stand for many days; indeed, I think we were lucky in losing only two hens as a result of their experiences.
We arrived in Lokoja on the 14th of October, and found many familiar, kind faces to welcome us; one dear friend of mine had even delayed her leave a few weeks so as not to miss us—a really heroic proof of friendship, and one greatly valued! Almost immediately my husband was ordered to take charge of Borgu, the Northernmost Province on the right bank of the Niger, and we were jubilant at the prospect of seeing some new country, especially as Borgu possessed a great reputation for good shooting; but our departure was delayed unavoidably for nearly three months, involving a state of restless uncertainty and suspense, a thing abhorrent to us both, and which has, oddly enough, been our portion almost continuously for the last ten years!
There came to Lokoja at this time a quaint and unusual visitor in the person of ‘Fritz.’ ‘Fritz’ was a young hippopotamus, I can hardly call him a baby on account of his size (about that of a very large pig), though he was only a few months old, brought down the Benue by Captain Stieber, the Resident of German Bornu, on his way to Berlin. He (Fritz, I mean!) was the oddest thing in pets, for he was perfectly tame, and could scarcely be called sharp, or even lively, but there was distinct individuality in his wide, rather satirical smile and tiny twinkling eye which commanded respect, though he did not lend himself to petting. For fear of losing this valuable little person he was usually tied up when taken down to bathe, for which purpose he wore an elegant and original collar, made of a cask hoop; he seemed perfectly happy and contented, wandering among the grass at the Preparanda, consuming untold quantities of tinned milk, and rolling in awkward ecstasies in the warm sand. I believe Captain Stieber was perfectly successful in landing his pet safe and well at the Berlin Zoo.
In December we got our ‘marching orders,’ packed up, and—on Christmas Day!—started on our long river journey to Bussa, our new headquarters. When our last friend had waved ‘Good-bye’ at Mureji, and the little white stern-wheeler swept round the bend, and swung out into the great silent, gleaming river, where the distance was all opalescent Harmattan mist, the water like glass and the heavy air laden with soft aromatic scents, floating lazily out from the walls of tropical verdure on either hand, we felt that the ‘onward and outward’ craving which so deeply possesses us both was in a fair way to be gratified.
After the hurry and stress of departure from the busy station down river, and the final disgorging of passengers, mails and cargo at Mureji, it was infinitely peaceful to lie out on the now deserted deck and absorb and drink in the matchless beauty of it all, a beauty which seems to seize and hold one, making the blood race and pulses throb. The marvellous colouring, the masses of vegetation hanging over motionless reflections, clear and detailed as their originals, in the olive-hued water; the solemn fish-eagles, sharply silhouetted against the pale sky, immovably still and ceaselessly peering into the silent pools below; those mysterious little creeks creeping inwards where the branches hang low giving glimpses of flecked sunshine and shade, gloom and gold, bringing to mind that strange indefinable world that is neither dream-land nor fairy-land, but which very surely exists, and is sometimes momentarily revealed to most of us.
